


Love Notes

by inklizard (skinklegs)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25257145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinklegs/pseuds/inklizard
Summary: Wherein Soul is a big dumb idiot who, instead of using his words to tell Maka he likes her, decides to do so in the most unnecessarily dramatic way possible.Rated T for—spoilers—gratuitous premarital kissing.
Relationships: Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans
Comments: 25
Kudos: 295





	Love Notes

When Soul met Maka, he played a song for her.

“This is me,” he said, and she listened, seeming to understand—even if, at the time, she thought it was silly. That was the beginning of their partnership, and it continued in much the same way ever since.

Soul considered himself a man of few words. Self-expression in most forms did not come easily to him, but with Maka, that never mattered. It was the cause of a handful of small spats, especially in their early days, but as they grew closer, Soul found he had to say less and less for Maka to understand. All it took was a look, a gesture, or a sound for her to know what he was thinking and what to do; and to Soul, that was the most valuable kind of friendship.

There was only one small problem: Soul did not want to be friends.

At first, Soul did not think much of Maka. She was kind, sweet, and intelligent; nothing to complain about, surely, but nothing remarkable, either.

Soul had been wrong before, but never quite so wrong as he was about Maka. “Remarkable,” as it turns out, did not even begin to cover it.

Maka Albarn was the most stubborn, overconfident, reckless girl he had ever met. Behind those big, innocent-looking green eyes hid an oversized ego and a fiery, hair-trigger temper. Arguing with her was impossible; she was whip smart, sharp-tongued, and hated to lose. Being around her made Soul lose his mind in more ways than one.

When they fought—side-by-side, that is—her attitude was the same. She had a habit of throwing herself headlong into near-certain defeat, and, as was her nature, refusing to back down. Luckily for her, she had a punishing bite to match her ferocious bark. Maka, disarming though she appeared, was a terrifying force to be reckoned with, and together, they won far more battles than they lost.

Sometimes, though, the odds were stacked too high. And when they had to run away to lick their wounds, for whatever reason, she was always more concerned about him than herself. She would fuss over him, apologizing, even when she got the worst of it. As maddening as she could sometimes be, the tenderness she showed then; or when they were alone together, up too late laughing in the middle of the night; or on long, lonely train rides far from home—there was never any doubt she cared for him just as much as he did her.

Never had Soul wished so desperately to be better with words.

But words were difficult. A simple “I love you” did not feel like enough. And even if it were, when would be the right time to say it? There was the fear, too, that she would not feel the same way. Her mother and father started out as partners, after all, and she never did get over what happened to them. She might reject him on principle, and then what? Would they even still be partners after that? The thought of Maka with another weapon made his stomach twist, and not only because he wanted her all for himself. No one else, he thought, would be able to look out for her like he did, and he had the scars to prove it.

If anything ever happened to her, his whole world would crumble.

In his own way, he tried to show her, but it was hard. Most of the time he felt like a boy throwing stones at a girl on the playground, teasing her, albeit lightheartedly, to make her laugh, or scold him, or shove him, or something—anything to grab her attention, even for a moment. What he really wanted was to sit her down and pour his heart out to her, but the thought of doing so, with her eyes on him all the while, made something inside him shrivel and die. What else could he do? He thought about writing it down, but that almost seemed worse. It felt impersonal, and moreover, cowardly.

It was that idea, though, that eventually led him to where he was now.

Yellow moonlight poured in through his open window. It was late, and he should have been thinking of sleep, but he felt so very, very awake. In front of him, on top of his desk, lie an open notebook and an untouched packet of homework. With his chin in his hand, he stared down at it, tap-tap-tapping the eraser-end of his pencil against the page and thinking, among other things, that he should have started this hours ago.

His mind had been elsewhere today. It was hard to concentrate.

Somewhere in the apartment, a door opened and closed. Soul swallowed around the lump in his throat. On the other side of the wall—outside Maka’s bedroom—he heard soft footsteps wandering around from one end of the apartment to the other. She was getting ready for bed, like he should have been.

He held his breath, waiting, hoping that she would notice what he left for her to find.

The footsteps stopped for what felt like a very long time, and he began to think maybe she had gotten into bed. Then, suddenly, he heard the door open and close again. The sound of it made him jump. Inwardly, he begged himself to be cool.

Without knocking, in came Maka. Soul twisted around in his chair. She was in her pajamas, hair still damp from her shower. In her hand was an innocuous-looking piece of notebook paper. It seemed to have captured her attention, because when he looked at her, she did not meet his eyes; hers were on the sheet, scrutinizing it as if the writing thereupon were in Latin. She probably could have deciphered Latin, though.

“Soul,” she said, “what’s this?”

“What’s what?” he asked without thinking, and immediately bit the inside of his cheek. Stupid question.

“This,” said Maka, holding the paper out toward him.

He looked at it as if he had never seen it before; like he had not spent countless hours throughout the last few weeks agonizing over every detail on that paper.

It was a sheet filled with lines upon lines of musical notes.

Soul looked it over as dryly as he could, and then, at length, his eyes wandered back up to hers.

“It’s yours,” he said easily.

Maka stuck out her lower lip at him.

“It’s not mine,” she argued. “It was in with my notes from today. It must’ve fallen out of your—”

“It’s yours,” Soul said again, more insistently this time. Maka blinked at him, confused, and he explained, “I made it for you.”

The look on her face softened into one of genuine surprise. Something in her eyes seemed to melt, and the sudden tenderness with which she looked at him made his chest tighten like a vice around his heart. He wished she would look at him like that all the time.

Hesitantly, tucking her hair behind her ear, she said, “You did?”

“Yeah.” It was hard to speak smoothly through the dryness in his throat.

Maka looked down at the paper again, and brought it slowly closer to her. She held it differently now, in both hands and close to her chest, as if it were suddenly something precious to her.

“I thought you didn’t write music anymore,” she said, sounding skeptical.

“Sometimes I do.”

“You never show me.”

“‘Cause it’s not very good.”

Maka opened her mouth to argue, but seemed to think better of it. Music was a sore spot for Soul; she knew that, and she also knew that her attempts to be a supportive, encouraging partner would only be met with increasingly stubborn resistance. Soul appreciated the gesture, anyway.

“Well,” Maka began, “then what brought this on? Is it my birthday?”

“Is it? Then I don’t have to get you a present.”

“Very funny.”

Soul put his arm over the back of his chair, then rested his chin on it, looking up at her with eyes he hoped did not betray his nerves.

“I just thought you might like it,” he said with a shrug.

“I do!” said Maka. “I’m not even sure what to say. I mean...thank you, Soul, that’s really…”

There was a certain puzzlement behind her gratitude that suggested she thought the gesture was out of place. She was right. Soul specifically avoided sharing his music with anyone, except for one particular instance years ago, which was, again, for her. That was alright, though—the confusion, that is. She did not need to understand; not yet, anyway. If everything went the way he hoped, it would make sense soon.

For now, Soul gave her a small half-smile and simply said, “You’re welcome.”

Maka’s eyes flitted back and forth between him and the paper. There was something else on the tip of her tongue; he could tell by how her lips were still parted ever so slightly, waiting to speak when she found the words.

Finally, she did.

“How, um...” Her voice was small and quiet, and she was reluctant to meet his gaze. “How does it go?”

Soul buried his smile in his sleeve. Be cool, he reminded himself.

“How does it go?” he said back to her.

Maka nodded. “I don’t know how to read sheet music,” she confessed, looking needlessly embarrassed.

“Oh,” said Soul, as if he had not known that all along, or, for that matter, been counting on it. “I could, uh”—he gave a vague wave of the hand that hung over the back of his chair—“play it for you sometime, if you want.”

At that, Maka’s eyes positively lit up. “Really?” she asked, bouncing once on her heels.

Soul nodded dumbly into his sleeve, trying to pretend that was not the cutest thing he had ever seen. It would have been so easy to stand up and sweep her into his arms, he thought. What would she have done? Scold him for crumpling her gift, maybe. The idea left his mind as quickly as it had appeared.

He realized she was looking at him, expecting an answer.

Weakly, he repeated, “If you want."

“That would be great!” she said without missing a beat. “When?”

“After school, as long as there’s nobody else there.”

Maka gave him a playful smile that, without a word, teased him for his shyness. He never would play in front of others, but this time, it had nothing to do with a lack of confidence in his skills. He needed to be alone with her. She, of course, did not know that.

“I’m sure it’s great, Soul.”

“That doesn’t mean other people need to hear it.”

She rolled her eyes at him, clicking her tongue. “Okay,” she said, “whatever you say.”

“Cool,” said Soul.

Maka brought the paper up to her chest and held it there, smiling a sweet little smile that melted his heart into goo.

“Thank you again. I mean it—this was a really nice surprise.”

Soul felt warmth pool in his cheeks and tried to bury his face deeper into his arm.

“Go to bed, Maka,” he said with another wave of his hand. “It’s late.”

A soft breath—a half-laugh—escaped her, and she took a small step back toward the door.

“You, too.”

He nodded.

“Goodnight, Soul.”

“‘Night.”

As soon as the door was shut behind her, Soul drew in a slow, deep breath. His eyes unfocused and he sat staring blankly at the opposite end of his bedroom. Now that she was gone and his nerves were beginning to settle, everything felt so much more real. Tomorrow, he thought, one way or another, his friendship with Maka would be over, and it occurred to him that, should it end poorly, he had no idea what he would do. There was no contingency plan, and there would be no way to back out if it all went up in flames.

Maybe he should have just drowned in his feelings after all.

Feeling suddenly lightheaded, he dragged himself out of his chair and shuffled over to bed. Not bothering to shut off the lights, he fell down face-first, buried his arms underneath his pillow, and smothered himself with it.

He never did finish his homework.

When his alarm went off the next morning, he woke up with a start. He had no memory of falling asleep, nor did he intend to when he laid down; but he must have at some point. Sleep stuck to him like a fog as he reached over to his bedside table and smacked the alarm into silence. With a groan, he rubbed the fuzziness from his eyes, gradually rejoining the world of the living when…

His heart went hurtling up into his throat as, all at once, the memory of last night came back to him. He sat up so quickly it made his head spin, and, for some reason, his first thought was to look at the clock. It went off at the same time every morning; he had no clue what he expected, but it did, indeed, read 7:30 AM.

He had nine hours, give or take.

His stomach rolled over itself, and he wished for the ground to open up and swallow him. Regrettably, it did not.

Getting through breakfast was a feat in itself. The thought of eating made him feel ill, but the way Maka smiled at him over the blueberry pancakes she made, he was afraid of disappointing her if he refused them. Besides, if he did, she might have thought something was wrong, and the last thing he needed was for her to fuss over him all day long. So, Soul struggled with his breakfast, listening quietly, like he did, while Maka carried the conversation. It was not terribly unlike any other morning, and the rest of the day was not terribly unlike any other, either.

Class was long and boring, and Soul’s attention was elsewhere, like it normally was. He kept stealing glances at Maka. She was sitting next to him with her hands folded in front of her, listening diligently to their lesson and, for the most part, not paying him any attention. Once, though, he looked too long, and his eyes caught hers. She quirked an eyebrow at him, looking at him expectantly, thinking he had something to say; but all he did was clam up and look away, leaving her bemused.

Despite his best efforts, he was not entirely himself, and she seemed to notice.

During lunch, while they were eating on the steps of the school, she asked him as much: “Are you feeling okay?”

Soul looked up from playing with his untouched food.

“Yeah,” he lied, “I’m fine. Why?”

“Nothing. You’re just being weird today.”

“I am?”

He was.

Maka smiled warmly at him, then bumped her knee into his. “You’re not nervous about the song, are you?” she asked. “You don’t have to play it for me if you don’t want to.”

Soul’s stomach plummeted. “No,” he said far too eagerly. “I mean—no, I don’t care. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

It was not fine, but for the moment, Maka seemed content to leave it at that. “If you say so,” she said, and, much to Soul’s relief, that was that.

At least, she did not ask him any more about his odd behavior. Instead, she went on: “So how does it go?”

Soul blinked at her.

“What?”

“The song, dummy,” said Maka. “Hum it for me.”

He could tell she was joking—halfway, at least—and played along in his way. He frowned and deadpanned, “No.”

“Come on!” Maka elbowed him in the arm, and he leaned away from her, grabbing at his sleeve. “I want to know. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Think about it some more. I’m not humming jack shit.”

Maka stuck out her tongue at him, and he returned the gesture. Teasing her was so easy, so familiar, that for a bit, he managed to forget his nerves. Maka, he reminded himself, was his best friend, and he was hers—he hoped. They had been by each other's side through thick and thin. Surely their partnership could withstand…this.

Still, he could not help but think that after today, things would never go back to the way they were. He and Maka might have stayed partners, and even friends, but there would always be something different between them. He would never be able to take this back.

And just like that, the sick, empty feeling in his belly returned, and there it sat for the remainder of the day.

By the time the final bell rang, he was wound so tightly that his heart felt like it might give up on beating altogether.

Maka, for her part, seemed entirely unbothered. While he was trying to breathe his way through an impending heart attack, she was busy collecting her things from the desk. She put her pencil, notebook, and books neatly away, and then, finally, looked to him. He swallowed.

“You ready to go?”

Soul nodded, and Maka smiled her sweet, patient smile.

He was not at all ready.

They walked slowly through the halls, side-by-side, watching the other students pass them by. They were in no particular hurry; or, at least, Soul was in no hurry. Maka, on the other hand, was barely containing her excitement. He could see it in her eyes and in the way she smiled at him. It was adorable, and terrifying. All he could think of was how easy it would be to disappoint her. What if, after all this, the moment she had been so looking forward to was ruined when he told her how he felt?

He glanced at her, and she grinned, and he felt as if the pit in his stomach might swallow him from the inside. That would have been too easy an escape.

On their way up to the grand, empty room where the piano resided, the entire school fell eerily quiet below them. It was strange, hearing no voices nor movement from downstairs in a place that was normally so full of life. Everyone had left; it really was just the two of them.

Maka practically danced over the threshold, scampering in front of him, twirling on her heel, and clasping her hands behind her back. The dying daylight that filtered in through the windows silhouetted her in hazy gold.

Oh, God.

“You know,” said Maka, digging around in her bag, “if you're playing a joke on me, I’m gonna be upset.”

Protected between the sturdy pages of her notebook was the sheet of music Soul had given her. She slipped it out and offered it to him, but when she did, she found him looking elsewhere.

“Soul?”

Along the wall, all by its lonesome, sat the piano, and Soul could not take his eyes off it. The sight of it tied his stomach into knots.

“Soul,” she said again, gentler this time, and placed a hand on his arm.

Her touch sent him crashing back down to earth. Startled, he turned, looking first at her, then at the sheet of paper she held out to him. He blinked a few times, collecting himself, before he managed to say, “Yeah.”

Maka frowned at him, confused, and asked, “What’s the matter?”

Before he could lose his nerve, he reached for the paper and took it from her. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Come here.”

With that, he started across the room. There was a pause—a quick moment of hesitation—before he heard Maka's footsteps following behind him. She was unsure of what was going on. Soul was not acting like himself, and they both knew it.

As he sat down, Maka moved to stand close to him, her hip resting lightly against the edge of the piano. She laid her bag atop it, then folded her arms and leaned to the side to better see what Soul was doing. He tried his best not to look at her; instead, he kept his eyes on the piece of notebook paper that now rested in front of him.

“I, um…” he started, but then thought better of it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maka frown again. “Never mind,” he said. “Just listen.”

When he lifted his hands to the keys, he noticed his fingers were quivering, and hoped that would not cause him to miss a note. This had to be perfect; it just had to.

Finally, with a deep breath, he began to play.

The song sounded like heavy velvet felt. It was a deep, melancholy melody that he knew by heart; he found he hardly had to look at the notes, and that made it all a bit easier.

As she listened, Maka seemed to relax. She leaned in closer, watching him, and Soul held his breath, waiting, hoping she would remember. It had been a long time since she last heard it, but it was the only song he ever played for her.

It took no time at all. He could not see the spark of recognition in her eyes, but he could hear it in her voice when she said, “Wait.”

“What?” Soul asked without pausing.

“This is your song.” It came across as a half-question, like she was unsure, but she was right: It was the same song he played for her when they first met.

Soul gave her an easy smile. All this time, and she still knew his song. Not that he doubted she would.

“Yeah, it is,” he said. “Just wait.”

Maka's eyes followed his hand across the keyboard. Suddenly, with a quick dance of his fingers, in came a sprinkling of lighter, airier notes.

“This is your part,” said Soul.

Those notes fell upon the rich velvet like raindrops, slowly trickling in until the two tones melded together, and out of the melancholy emerged a wistful, bittersweet sound.

Soul’s throat felt tight. As he played, he bit the inside of his lip, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He could not see the look on Maka's face—he was worried that if he did, he would choke and ruin the harmony—but he did see her lift her hand to her chest.

Throughout the rest of the song, neither of them spoke. Soul played, and Maka listened quietly, until, gradually, the notes slowed to a crawl and faded into silence.

Soul finally let himself look at her.

In her eyes was a look that could most readily be described as wonder. They were wide and intense and glittered with what he hoped were not tears. Her lips were parted as if to speak, but no sound came from her. All the while, she kept her hand over her heart.

Soul shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. At least she seemed happy—so far.

The first sound to break the silence was her soft, breathy laugh.

“Wow,” said Maka. “See? I told you you'd do great.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You like it?”

“Of course I like it! I love it!” She looked so happy, she almost seemed to glow. With the sunlight behind her, he supposed she did. Soul’s heart swelled in his chest. “That was beautiful, Soul,” she said. “You really made that just for me?”

A crooked, toothy grin spread across his face. The words he had been thinking of for so long sat in the back of his throat. It was now or never, he thought, and, at length, he stood up from his seat.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching for the hand that rested on her heart. As he took it gently in his, she looked down, surprised, and her lips popped open again. He found it hard to drag his eyes away from them.

“I, uh…” he began again. Deep breath. This was it. “I couldn’t think of any other way to tell you.”

Slowly, Maka’s gaze wandered back up to his. She kept her chin down, looking up through her lashes to meet his eyes. There was a whisper of rosy pink in her cheeks that had not been there before.

“Tell me what?” she asked.

Soul’s poor heart struggled to stay afloat above the swarm of butterflies in his stomach.

“That—”

Words were difficult. He thought he would have no idea what to say, but now, in the moment, he found he had too much. Maybe that had been the problem all along.

“That I can’t imagine me without you.”

Maka's eyes widened ever so slightly. It was such a small change, he would not have noticed were he not so close to her.

“Soul…” she started. It sounded as if she had more to say, but she trailed off into silence before she could find the words he needed to hear.

A million thoughts whirled around in his head. Did she understand what he meant? Maybe he was not straightforward enough. Should he say “I love you?” Was it too soon? A pang of anxiety shot through him. Desperately, his eyes searched hers, and as he did, he noticed she seemed to be looking for something in his, too.

Do something, he told himself, feeling the moment he worked so hard to create slipping away from him.

He swallowed, nervous, and gently squeezed the hand he was holding.

“Maka,” he said back softly. As her name left his lips, he looked to hers, and, drawing on the last bits of his courage, leaned down.

Her eyes drifted slowly closed.

His heart felt like it was about to burst. Not only did she not pull away, but, when he pushed his forehead against hers, she tipped her chin up toward him. Their noses touched, and, to his surprise—and delight—she leaned into it. He heard her giggle as she nuzzled his nose, and something in him popped and fizzled like fireworks in the sky.

Oh, my God, he thought to himself over and over.

The feeling of her breath on his skin was burning him up. They were so close, and he wanted so badly to kiss her. Should he ask first? Would that ruin it? Maybe he should start with a kiss on the cheek, or the nose, or…

Fuck it, he thought.

Holding his breath, he pulled her hand to his chest and pressed his lips quickly, clumsily to hers. It was over in a heartbeat, and when he pulled away, she followed. He felt her lean heavier into him, curling her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. His heart crammed itself up into his throat, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe, never mind speak.

“Was that, uh…”

“Okay?” said Maka. “Yeah.”

He felt a fingertip tap his lower lip, and a grin squirmed its way onto his face. “Yeah?”

In response, she hummed a soft, honey-sweet sound, and ghosted her fingers along his jaw and around the back of his neck. Chills shot up his spine. That was all the encouragement he needed. Growling low in his throat, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her flush against him, coaxing out of her a brand new noise that he was all too happy to smother with a kiss; then another, and another. She giggled into his kisses, struggling to return them through her smile. Neither of them knew what they were doing—it was fervent and clueless and awkward, and Soul could not get enough.

Once, between kisses, she breathed his name against his lips, and his heart slammed into his ribs. His hands tightened around her waist and, with a groan, he lifted her up and whirled her around, sitting her down on the edge of the piano in front of him. She squeaked in surprise, and, laughing, draped her arms over his shoulders as he settled in between her legs. Hands on her hips, he pushed as close to her as he could, drowning her laughter in kiss after kiss.

Soul had never been drunk before, but he imagined it felt something like this.

It was perfect.

Then, suddenly, Maka leaned away. When he tried to follow, he felt his forehead knock gently into hers. Without a thought, he leaned down to kiss her again, but she put a finger to his lips, and he frowned.

“Maka,” he whined, and stubbornly kissed her fingertip.

She shushed him softly and said, "Wait."

The breathlessness of her voice made his knees feel weak.

Reluctantly, he obeyed and pulled back, but kept his hands on her hips as he did. When he opened his eyes, he found Maka looking deliciously disheveled before him. Her shirt was crumpled and uneven at the bottom, and the little tie she wore was crooked around her neck. He swallowed hard.

She put a hand flat on the piano behind her and leaned back on it. Soul had to remind himself not to chase her.

“Why are we stopping?” he asked.

“Because I wanna talk to you,” said Maka.

“Oh, God.”

There was mirth in her smile, like he just told her a joke. “Did you think that would just happen and we wouldn’t have a conversation?”

“I just—” Soul rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, aching, wishing this did not have to be so difficult. “What do you want me to say?”

“That’s not how this works,” said Maka. “I don’t tell you what to say.”

“Well...I don’t know,” struggled Soul. “I mean, I guess I want—I don’t know.”

“You seemed like you had a pretty clear idea a minute ago.”

“I do!” He knew damn well what he wanted. Telling her that was a different matter. “I want…”

She watched him patiently as he tried to cobble his words together. It was hard to think with her sitting so close to him, looking so distracting. It felt like there was cotton where his head used to be.

“Look,” he said, “whenever I think about what my life's gonna be like, you’re there. I can’t imagine you not being there. Okay? Wherever you go, I’m gonna follow you, ‘cause I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t.”

The longer he went on, the more her eyes seemed to soften, till she looked like she might melt through his fingers. Idly, he rubbed a thumb across her hip, and she giggled under her breath.

“You’d better,” she said. “I don’t know what I'd do without you, either.”

The golden halo around her hair was beginning to fade as the sun sank lower in the sky. Long shadows crept their way across the room. It was getting late, and they should have been home already, but there was one more thing Soul had to do first.

He leaned in, and this time, Maka did not pull away. She met him halfway, and, just like the first time, when he kissed her, it felt like his heart would beat right out of his chest. In the back of his mind, he wondered if it would feel this way every time. He hoped so.

The hand she was not leaning on came up to cup his cheek, and he furrowed his brow and pushed harder into the kiss. He poured all that he had into it, and when they finally broke apart, he pressed his forehead to hers and said, “I want you to be mine.”

The only sound between them was her breathing; he held his, waiting for her to say something—anything. What she did say was not what he expected.

“On one condition.”

Blinking, Soul opened his eyes. “Huh?” was all he managed to get out before she put her thumb to his lips. He crossed his eyes and looked down, then quickly back up to her when she spoke again.

“You have to play that song for me whenever I want.”

Time stood still for a moment. Soul looked up at her, and she looked at him, and, slowly, it began to sink in that that was a “yes.”

She said “yes.”

If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

He cracked a smile. Then, again, he kissed the finger on his lips, and turned to press a kiss into her wrist, too. That made her laugh, and her laugh made his heart soar like it never had before. It was the prettiest noise he ever heard, and he would have done anything to hear it again.

“You’re weird,” she said.

“You’re perfect,” he said back to her.

Then he pulled her close and, in one motion, lifted her up off the piano. She gasped, wrapping her arms quickly around his neck, holding tightly onto him as he spun her around. Then he set her down in front of him, dragging his hands up her waist and around to the small of her back. She arched her body into his, and without missing a beat, he began peppering kisses along her cheek and down her neck. She squeaked and laughed and held him tighter, and he felt so light he forgot he was standing.

“Soul,” said Maka.

“Wha?” he asked between kisses.

“Take me home.”

“In a minute,” he said quickly, and kept on smothering her soft skin in kiss after kiss.

All the way downstairs, he found he could not stop touching her. He kept an arm around her shoulders, fingers playing up and down her sleeve. Once in a while, she would bump her hip into his and flash him a smile, and he would pull her close and press a kiss into her hair. Then she would blush and look at the floor, and his heart felt too full for his chest.

The walk home was a slow one. Soul was content to take his time; he wanted the whole city to see him with his arm around Maka. It was also a quiet one. He was sure Maka had a lot to say, but every time she looked up at him, she seemed to shy away from doing so. Soul was not bothered. There would be plenty of time to talk about it later.

Eventually, though, she did pipe up with, “So…”

“Yeah?” he prompted, giving her arm an encouraging squeeze.

“I was just wondering,” she said, looking down at her shoes, “how long did it take you to write? The song, I mean.”

“Oh,” said Soul. “Not that long. A couple weeks. But I had it in my head for a while, so it wasn’t hard to get down.”

“‘A while?’”

“Uh...a few months.”

“How many is ‘a few?’”

Soul raised his eyebrows at her. There was something else behind her questions; something she was not quite saying. He leaned forward, trying to catch her eye.

“You’re asking me something else.”

“I’m asking how long.”

How long? How long wh—

“Oh,” Soul said again. For some reason, he hesitated, embarrassed, and he kicked himself for it. Somewhere in the back of his head, there was a little, nagging voice that asked him: What if she thought him a coward for keeping it a secret for so long? She would not, he told himself. That was not like her. But still, the worry persisted.

“Uh,” he began, “a...while.”

Maka knew him too well to let him dodge the question. She elbowed him gently in the ribs and said, “Spill.”

Soul made a vague gesture with his free hand. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “There wasn’t, like, a moment. It just happened. Like, one day I was just like, ‘ah, shit.’”

“That clears up so much,” said Maka. It was his turn to look at his shoes, but he could tell by the playful tone of her voice that she was smiling at him. “I’m so glad to know your reaction was ‘ah, shit.’ Thank you.”

“Not ‘ah, shit’ verbatim, but, like, that kinda feeling.”

“Why?”

“Because I had no idea how the fuck I’d ever tell you.”

That made her giggle.

“Well,” she said, “I liked what you came up with.”

“Thank God.”

Suddenly, Maka slipped an arm around his back and leaned into his side. He nearly lost his balance, but she did not seem to notice, or if she did, she did not care. Her head rolled onto his shoulder and she said, “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been waiting for you to tell me for ‘a while.’”

Soul puffed up with a deep breath, staring down at the top of her head with wide eyes.

“You’ve been what now?”

“Waiting,” said Maka. “Or hoping, I guess.”

“Hoping?”

The way she was leaning on him made it hard to walk. She straightened up, but kept her arm around him.

“I thought it might’ve just been wishful thinking,” she went on, “so I didn’t wanna say anything, but I kind of thought...I don’t know, maybe there was something there. I guess there was.”

“You knew?” asked Soul.

“No,” said Maka. “Not for sure. But I wanted there to be.”

“What does that mean?”

She laughed, but he was unsure what was so funny.

“I’m trying to tell you I love you, too, stupid.”

His stomach did a funny thing then. It rolled and jumped and hit the bottom of his heart on its way up, and for a second, it was hard to breathe.

“You do?” he asked, surprised at the disbelief in his own voice.

Maka looked at him with an innocent curiosity in her big green eyes. “I thought we went over that already,” she said. “Not in so many words, but…”

“Yeah,” said Soul. “Not in...so many words.”

The puzzled frown on her face made him want to kiss her again, but for the moment, all he did was look at her, hanging on her words.

“Did I misunderstand?”

“No,” Soul croaked. “You’re, uh...you’re good.”

“We’re good?”

“We’re good.”

“Good,” said Maka, and, apparently content with his half-assed answer, she turned her attention back to the empty road in front of them.

Soul, meanwhile, was not so satisfied. He bit the inside of his cheek, a single thought swirling round and round inside his head. He had been thinking about it for long enough, hiding it behind every look, and every touch, and every stupid name he called her. But now that she was his, there was no reason to keep it hidden anymore.

“Hey, Maka?” he said.

She turned to him with a hum. Looking into her eyes made his heart stutter in his chest, but he would not let himself look away. He dragged in a shallow breath and, quickly, before his courage left him, said, “Love you.”

Maka looked at him for a moment. At first, there was surprise behind her eyes, like she had not expected him to say it back to her. Then she smiled the sweetest, most heartbreaking little smile he had ever seen, and told him without a word that he did not need to.

He caught her humming their song a lot after that day.


End file.
